


Every Great Top Deserves a Great Bottom

by TrenchcoatBaby



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bisexual Dean Winchester, Blow Jobs, Castiel/Dean Winchester One Shot, Dean Winchester Wears Panties, First Time Bottoming, M/M, Model Castiel (Supernatural), Model Dean Winchester, One Shot, Playboy Dean Winchester, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Russian Castiel (Supernatural), Sexual Tension, Shameless Smut, Snowballing, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Workplace Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-11
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:20:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,682
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24121981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrenchcoatBaby/pseuds/TrenchcoatBaby
Summary: Dean Winchester is a famous model, bisexual playboy, and self-identified top…until his path crosses with a gorgeous up-and-comer named Castiel Krushnic. Posed together during a lingerie shoot, Castiel makes Dean reconsider his “top only” policy.Or, the one where Dean meets his match and becomes the needy little bottom we all know and love.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 120
Kudos: 1107
Collections: The Destiel Fan Survey Favs Collection





	Every Great Top Deserves a Great Bottom

**Author's Note:**

> Hello friends, and welcome back! 
> 
> So this is just a fun, smutty one-shot that was inspired by [this](https://www.google.com/imgres?imgurl=https://lookaside.fbsbx.com/lookaside/crawler/media/?media_id%3D509682465736103&imgrefurl=https://www.facebook.com/Gardeur-USA-401231073247910/posts&tbnid=xbrSGv6wBKvsuM&vet=1&docid=ELx0GDeedyMlGM&w=960&h=840&itg=1&q=Every+Great+Top+Deserves+a+Great+Bottom+ad&source=sh/x/im) ad. I know nothing about the modeling industry, so take this little story for what it is: shameless smutty times! 
> 
> Many thanks to my girls for their lightning fast beta reading skills: [EllenOfOz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllenOfOz/pseuds/EllenOfOz), [CBFirestarter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CBFirestarter/pseuds/CBFirestarter), and [WaywardJenn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/waywardjenn/pseuds/waywardjenn).

When Dean’s agent described the ad, he grinned around his mug of coffee. 

“Wow,” he said with a chuckle, “that’s ballsy.”

“Good choice of words,” Charlie laughed, sipping her own coffee—some sugary, syrupy concoction that Dean wouldn’t touch even if he _wasn’t_ on a perpetual diet. As a model, he made his living being fit, and only broke his nutritionist's orders for the two Bs: burgers and booze.

“You know Balthazar, though,” Charlie added with a shrug. Oh yeah, Dean certainly knew Balthazar—one of the most dedicated LGBTQ advocates in the world of fashion, not to mention one of the most famous designers of men’s lingerie. 

Which was why his latest job offer to Dean hadn’t exactly been a surprise: Balthazar was releasing a new line of lingerie based around two fabrics. Leather and lace. The shoot would feature two men, one wearing only a shirt and the other wearing only panties. The ad would read: _Every Great Top Deserves a Great Bottom._

“He knows I gotta be the top, right?” Dean joked with a raise of his eyebrows. 

Charlie rolled her eyes. “Winchester, I don’t even like…y’know… _penis_ …” She shuttered dramatically and Dean laughed, throwing a sugar packet at her. “But even I know it’s douchey to be a ‘top only.’”

“Yeah, well…I like what I like.” Dean shrugged, finishing off the rest of his coffee. What he didn’t mention was that—when he was alone, he often got off to three fingers buried inside his hole, imagining a hard cock slamming inside him. 

Okay, so maybe he was _curious_ , but he had a reputation to maintain.

“Well, the contract says you have to prepare for either,” Charlie said, squinting on her phone as she read the contract’s fine-print. “But they’ve got Mick Davies signed on as your partner, so they’re recommending him as the ‘bottom’ and you as the ‘top.’”

Dean nodded—that made sense to him. Davies was a well-known British model that Dean had worked with before. He was a little on the short side, but had a tight body with sexy scruff and nice eyes. 

In another life Dean might’ve been interested, but adding to his “top only” policy was his “no sex with coworkers” rule. Yeah, he might work with some of the most attractive men and women in the world, but it made for an awkward gig to be paired up with someone you had a one-night stand with…then never called back. He had made that mistake early in his career, barely eighteen with boyish charm, and had been fired from a shoot after him and Lisa couldn’t seem to get past their issues. For over seven years now, he had never made that mistake again. 

“Book it,” he said, sliding his wallet from his back pocket. In the corner of his eye, he saw a pretty girl staring at him…well, actually, an entire table of pretty girls. Huh. He gave them his signature, cocky grin, and shot them a wink. They blushed simultaneously, whispering to each other in excitement. He said a quick goodbye to Charlie and then walked over to their table. 

“Morning, ladies,” he said in a deep rumble, giving them each an interested once-over. 

“Aren’t you Dean Winchester—the model?” one of the girls asked, raking her own eyes over him appreciatively.

“The one and only.”

Just because he didn’t sleep with other models didn’t mean he couldn’t find a good lay. Or, you know, a whole table of them.

He smirked, hitting the girls with the full force of his charm. “Wanna have some fun?”

***

On the day of the shoot, everything seemed to go wrong. Dean woke up late, didn’t have time to grab coffee, and was forced to park his Impala on the street. 

“What if someone dents her?” Dean complained to his agent. He had given his brother shit for years about the time he borrowed Baby and brought her back with a dent in the bumper. Sammy would never let him live it down if something happened to the Impala on his watch.

“That wouldn’t happen if you’d let Alfie drive you more places,” Charlie pointed out, but before Dean could argue that only douchebag celebrities demanded to be driven around, she was already ushering him into his clothes fitting. Next was hair and makeup in his makeshift dressing room, where his rough morning started to turn around for a moment. He felt lulled by the familiar motion of having his face touched and prodded (he still remembers his first modeling gig ever, feeling loose powder on his face and whispering in horror, “I’m a painted whore”). 

Thirty minutes later, Balthazar finally came to visit Dean in his dressing room. Dean had been expecting him for a while now—the designer usually came to greet him as soon as he arrived, being one of the chattier and more flamboyant people Dean had ever met. 

“Darling, don’t you just look delectable,” Balthazar purred, giving Dean’s cheek an air kiss so he wouldn’t smudge Dean’s makeup. “When are you going to tell your agency to put my people on speed dial?”

“Anytime. Though you know I’m a busy guy,” Dean said lightly, which was an understatement. Dean’s fame had skyrocketed in the last two years, and it seemed like he was constantly going from shoots to commercials to events.

“Indeed. Well, speaking of busy, there’s been a slight change of plans.” 

With the flourish of one last makeup brush, Dean’s makeup was finished. He turned around in his chair, regarding the designer with his full attention. 

“Davies apparently has a nasty bout of food poisoning and refuses to work today,” Balthazar said, sounding more irritated than sympathetic. Dean winced—the industry could be cutthroat, he knew.

“Oh… Well damn. Should we reschedule?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Balthazar said. “You’re already here, and you’re the real star power behind the ad, anyways.” He sighed, then added, “No, I’ve just found a last-minute replacement for poor Mick. He’s a little green, but completely gorgeous, and has a lot of talent.”

Dean nodded agreeably. “Cool. What’s his name?”

“Castiel Krushnic. He was discovered in Russia but has been working in the States for a few years now.” Balthazar’s assistant stopped by, handing him a clipboard. “Anyways, darling, duty calls. Just wanted to give you the update.”

Once he left Dean was stripped down, given a thin robe to wear, and taken back to wardrobe. They situated a form-fitting, black leather shirt over his head and helped him slip on a pair of loose shorts. He’d be losing the shorts the minute they were in front of the camera, since he was posing partially nude today, though his dick wouldn’t be in any of the final shots. These _were_ commercial ads, after all.

Dean was finally taken to the set, all the familiar equipment and recognizable faces making this just another day of work for him. He kept looking around for the other model, hoping they’d get a few minutes to meet before the photographer took over. Dean had no idea what Castiel looked like, but the minute a tan, brunette guy turned the corner, he got an eyeful. He had seen plenty of attractive coworkers over the years, but this guy might have taken the cake. He was tall, though an inch or two shorter than Dean. He was built thickly—thighs like tree-trunks, shoulders strong and broad. And if his body was excellent, his face was like a work of art: scruff that looked soft and expertly trimmed; lips pink and plump; blue eyes the shade of the sky, or maybe the ocean, Dean couldn’t decide which—he just knew they were stunning. 

He swallowed a dry lump in his throat. 

“Hey,” he said, forcing himself to maintain eye contact as Castiel approached. He stuck out his hand to shake, and the other model looked down at his hand curiously, then took it. His hand was strong and warm, and it felt like they touched for a moment longer than was necessary. “I’m Dean.”

“I know,” Castiel said simply, with a slight accent, and dear god, the _voice_ on this guy. It was too fucking bad this was a print ad and not a commerical, Dean thought, because that voice alone could convince anyone to buy Balthazar’s lingerie. 

“You are very famous,” Castiel added, stating it as a fact instead of a compliment. Dean found the man’s tone threw him off-balance for a moment, but Castiel’s open gaze never seemed to waver. Dean was used to new talent trying to cozy up to him, even flirt with him to try and further their career. He knew somehow, an instinct maybe, that Castiel wasn’t one of those people.

“Yeah,” Dean answered honestly, figuring if this guy could be straightforward, so could he. Still, he added his signature wink and said jokingly, “Try not to let it intimidate you.”

“It won’t,” Castiel replied confidently, voice a deep grumble, and…holy shit, this guy was seriously sexy. “I’m Castiel.”

Dean nodded lamely, scrambling for what to say. “Mind if I call you Cas? The, uh, other option is kind of a mouthful.”

Castiel quirked up an eyebrow, as if Dean was intentionally making a double entendre. He wasn’t—or at least, he hadn’t _meant_ to—and he opened his mouth to explain when Castiel took a step closer and whispered, “I’m sure you could fit anything into a mouth that pretty, Dean, if you tried hard enough.”

Dean’s heart began to race, practically pounding in his chest. Jesus fucking Christ, was this guy coming on to him— _right_ before they had a long day of shooting? 

“Gorgeous, gorgeous!” Balthazar called, snapping Dean out of his reverie. _Right,_ they’re on set with a few dozen people watching them. “That’s the kind of chemistry I want to see! Remember, you two are turned on thanks to the lingerie. You can’t wait to get it off and see what’s underneath.”

“Yeah, uh… Got it,” Dean replied huskily, clearing his throat to regain some form of composure. An assistant came over and gave Dean a few touch-ups, the photographer and Balthazar came over to instruct them on placement and poses, and then someone came and took off Castiel’s robe and Dean’s shorts. Dean tried to keep his eyes planted anywhere but at Castiel’s naked body, clad in only a pair of obscenely tight black panties. The man was an absolute vision, and Dean willed his dick to stay down. 

“Okay, let’s head into the first pose,” the photographer instructed. As discussed, Dean grabbed Castiel by the hips and pushed them close together, his hand in the small of Castiel’s back. His dick was almost brushing Castiel’s thigh, and the thought of closing the distance between them was an urgent desire in the back of his mind. But he was a professional, damn it, and he channeled all his lust into his facial expression instead. He gave Castiel the full blast of Dean Winchester’s signature charm, eyes roaming the man’s face hungrily. Castiel gave as good as he got, though, his eyebrows pulled together in heated concentration, his gaze intense and demanding in a way that made Dean lick his lips and lean down, baring his throat. The camera kept snapping photos, and Dean and Castiel kept eye-fucking each other in lingerie, and Dean thought he might actually die on the spot. 

“Something about this isn’t working,” Balthazar announced in a curious tone, looking between the computer monitor to the two models. Dean was on the verge of feeling offended—he could feel the heat between him and Castiel, which was very real and not at all fabricated. 

But the designer walked over to them and quietly explained, “No, don’t worry darling, you look very tempting together. I daresay this has the potential to be the best work you’ve done yet. But the ad is all about tops and bottoms, and right now…” He gave Dean a slightly amused look. “Well, you’re wearing the top but acting like a bottom.”

Dean scoffed and took a step away from Castiel, feeling a blush form on his cheeks. “No, that’s…uh, that’s ridiculous.”

“The images don’t lie, I’m afraid. We’re going to need to switch your ensembles.” At the directive, various assistants started pulling Dean and Castiel further apart, taking them back into wardrobe.

“What?” Dean said in a choked voice. “But I…in these shoots, I’m usually the…”

His protests were muffled by the general buzz of voices, and the designer was already halfway to the computer monitors before Dean had even found his voice. He was changed quickly, shirt slipped up and over his head. He expected to be put into the same pair of black cotton underwear Castiel had been wearing, but instead, was given a new outfit altogether…one that was practically obscene. He stood in a delicate black lace thong with sheer black stockings, and he felt both incredibly sexy and incredibly vulnerable all at the same time. 

He thought about protesting, but this change was well within the bounds of his contract, something Charlie would definitely point out if he complained. So he slipped on a robe, and after another round of touch-ups, he was brought back to the set. Castiel was waiting in front of the lights, wearing his own robe. Dean swallowed, wondering if there was any possibility of surviving this day without an embarrassing boner. 

Both robes were slipped off simultaneously as they were brought back into focus, and Dean saw Castiel was now wearing a tight, sheer black tank top…and nothing else. God, he had a monster cock and Dean wondered what it would be like to choke on it. They flipped the pose from earlier, Castiel’s hands now in the dip of Dean’s back, and Dean felt the half-hard cock brush against his thigh. 

He let out a little gasp on instinct, and Castiel rumbled in his ear, “Can you blame me? You look so…” He whispered a few words in Russian that Dean had never heard before, but was pretty sure he could guess the meaning. _Jesus Christ._ Against his better judgment, a small whimper escaped his throat. 

They gazed into each other’s eyes with all the intensity and longing of two men really about to fuck each other’s brains out, and the camera began snapping away again. The voices of the room, the directives from the photographer, everything faded into a dim buzz as Dean lost himself in Castiel’s warmth. His neck slipped to the side and Castiel’s lips trailed there, mouth not moving as the camera captured the motion. He slipped a hand into the waistband of Dean’s panties, inches away from grabbing his ass, and Dean felt his cock begin to thicken. His breathing sped up, his eyes shut for the camera in a “moment of passion” that was far more real than fabricated. 

All too soon, yet not nearly quickly enough, Dean’s torture was temporarily relieved as the photographer directed them into a new pose. This time Castiel was pressed against him from behind, one hand holding Dean’s stocking while his cock was pushed into the crack of Dean’s ass. On a normal day at work this would feel slightly awkward or weird, but he and the other model would joke their way through it. Dean couldn’t find a single funny thing to say, though, as the feeling of Castiel’s erection pushed against the lace thong nestled in his crack. Castiel’s breath was on his neck, one hand on his hip, not an inch of space between them. 

It was one of the most sensual experiences in Dean’s life, and they hadn’t actually had sex. 

“Is this okay?” Castiel whispered in his ear, the new directive from the photographer forcing his erection to press harder and more insistently against Dean’s ass. Dean was beginning to sport a serious tent of his own, but he knew he couldn’t have his dick falling out of the panties, so he tried to calm down.

“It’s, uh…” Dean was conflicted between trying to maintain some professional boundaries, and yelling an enthusiastic _fuck yes._ “It’s fine. It’s natural, right?”

“Yes, it is,” Castiel said, a little out of breath as his fingers touched the lace of Dean’s panties. “Almost as natural as seeing you in these. _Ty krasivyy_.” 

“What…what does that mean?” Dean said in a strangled tone. 

“You’re beautiful,” Castiel translated easily. Dean let out a small exhale, suddenly very aware of the dick pushed against his crack. Holy fucking hell, it was so unprofessional to be having thoughts like this, but…he wanted Castiel to bend him over, to rip the panties off with his teeth, to fuck Dean into oblivion. 

The pose changed again, this time with Dean straddling Castiel’s waist, legs gripping tight as Castiel held him up. Dean could already tell these photos had the potential to be more pornographic than commercial, and tried not to react when his own panty-clad erection was pushed against Castiel’s stomach. But the man was holding him up easily, big hands gripping Dean’s ass cheeks. He just looked too mouthwatering, and after all the compliments he had paid Dean, he couldn’t help but whisper, “Fuck, Cas, you’re so fucking sexy.”

Castiel grinned at him, eyes zeroed in on Dean’s lips. Then he said, in an unnervingly steady voice, “Dean, I’d like to fuck you after this. Would you like that, too?”

Dean’s breath hitched in his throat, resisting the urge to seek friction against Castiel’s hard, flat stomach. 

“S-shit…” He took a deep breath, wondering if he’d be willing to break all his rules for a complete stranger he hadn’t said more than fifty words to. He fully intended to laugh it off, to say no, maybe to suggest they just trade handjobs once this was over. Instead, he heard himself saying, “Fuck yeah.”

***

It was the most excruciating day of work Dean had ever had (and that included the shoot where he was forced to work with Bela Talbot and drenched in honey for ten hours). But after three different sets of lingerie, a dozen different poses, and endless amounts of teasing and whispered dirty talk from Cas, he had the worst case of blue balls he’d ever had. At this point, he figured he could come from just a few good strokes to his cock, and some Russian words mumbled in his ear. 

When the photographer finally called it quits, Balthazar asked the models to hang around in their robes for a while as the production team reviewed the shots. Sometimes things had to be reposed, Dean knew from experience, because of various technical issues. Castiel and Dean both headed back toward their dressing rooms to relax separately… But the moment they were out of eyesight, Dean grabbed Castiel by the wrist, dragged the man into his room, and then locked the door. 

“Here?” Castiel asked, sounding surprised. He should’ve been, of course—this was against all the rules, and would definitely get them in hot water if they were found.

“Here,” Dean said, determined and horny and absolutely desperate for it. It seemed Castiel was just as lost, because he licked his lips, pushed Dean against the wall, and kissed him. 

The kiss caught Dean off-guard. He’d had a handful of random hookups in the bathrooms of bars or even the back aisle of movie theaters, but those were only ever about one thing: making each other come. But Castiel’s kiss was warm and inviting and he moaned against the man’s lips, reveling in the feeling of stubble against his cheek. He parted his lips and Castiel’s tongue slipped in effortlessly, tasting him. Dean’s hands fumbled for the tie of his robe and Castiel’s hands came to help, stripping them both of their outer layer until they were both clad in lingerie again. 

“Want to fuck you in these panties,” Castiel moaned against Dean’s neck. 

“C-can’t get them dirty, though,” Dean said, lucid enough to know that the clothes weren’t theirs and they couldn’t leave any evidence of their hookup.

“So we won’t,” Castiel conceded, hand curling in the back of Dean’s hair and mouth sucking his lower lip. He moved them across the room, kissing and moaning and panting as they went, until he had Dean pressed against the makeup counter. He spun Dean around until he was behind him again, hard cock rutting against Dean’s crack, both of them looking at themselves in the mirror. 

“Gonna watch yourself as I fuck you?” Castiel growled, and Dean whimpered pathetically at the thought. Shit, this was quickly turning into one of the hottest things that had ever happened to Dean, and his sex life wasn’t exactly vanilla. Castiel dropped to his knees as Dean planted his elbows on the counter, bent over as Cas’ hands began to pull the panties off. 

After a few wardrobe changes, it was a red leather thong Dean was wearing, and Castiel brought it down to his ankles swiftly. Then his mouth was on Dean’s cheeks, biting and nibbling and kissing, and Dean was doing all he could to stay quiet. But when he felt Castiel’s hands spread him open, a tongue licking flat and wet against his hole, he let out an unexpected moan that had Castiel urgently say, “Quiet, _malish_ , or someone will hear you.”

Dean steeled himself, breathing heavily as Castiel rimmed him out. Dean had done this on plenty of guys he had fucked, but he had never asked for it to be reciprocated. To be on this end of it… He shuddered when the tip of Castiel’s tongue slipped inside his hole, spearing him as a finger began to prod at his entrance. It all felt so foreign and peculiar and fucking amazing, and he covered his mouth with his hand as Castiel opened him up. 

“Here,” Dean said, once a full finger was inside of him. He had spotted a small container of vaseline from the makeup artists earlier, and even though he’d prefer lube for his first time bottoming, something as trivial as _that_ wasn’t stopping him from getting fucked by this Russian god. Castiel accepted it graciously, giving Dean’s pucker one last filthy french-kiss before slicking up two fingers. Dean felt full, so amazingly full, and the painful feeling morphed into pleasure as Castiel encouraged him with filthy words. By the time Castiel had four fingers in, Dean was panting and needy and worried that too much time had passed. Someone might knock on the door and discover them—or worse, he thought, interrupt them before they could finish. 

“Come on, Cas, just do it!” he whined, pushing back on Castiel’s fingers as they slid in and out of him. “Ready for your cock.”

Behind him, Castiel let out a growl as he stood to his feet again. The wet sounds of Castiel greasing up his cock with vaseline, not to mention the image of him pressed behind Dean in the mirror, was all-consuming and made Dean’s dick twitch. Castiel breached him slowly, inch by inch, and Dean shuddered at the overwhelming girth and length. Fuck, he was giving up his ass for the first time to a guy he’d barely known a day. 

Castiel’s grip on his hips was unrelenting as he pulled out, then slammed back in, and Dean let out such an outrageous moan that Castiel pulled out completely. Dean was on the verge of begging Castiel to slam back in, to promise to be good and quiet, when he saw the leather thong balled up in Castiel’s fist. He looked at Dean for approval, then shoved the panties into Dean’s mouth, muffling his moans. So much for not leaving evidence on the lingerie, Dean thought dimly, discovering he didn’t care one bit.

Afterwards Castiel entered his tight, wet hole again, wasting no time in pounding Dean’s ass. The pleasure was incredible—the fullness of Castiel’s cock, the feeling of being completely at his mercy. He bit down on the leather in his mouth as he moaned, the bruising pace of the dick inside him making him gasp for air. 

Castiel adjusted his hips a few inches, slamming into him from a different angle, and then: _stars_. The moment Castiel’s cockhead brushed his prostate Dean cried out, putting a hand over his mouth as sparks of electricity seemed to work their way up his skin. 

“Love hearing the sounds you make,” Castiel breathed behind him, sounding absolutely wrecked. “Next time we do this, I want to hear you _scream_.”

Dean gave one tight tug on his cock, and then he came all over his hand and the floor, tears in the corners of his eyes as Castiel continued to thrust into him. He felt boneless and pliant, imagining himself as just a conduit of pleasure for Castiel to find himself in. The thought turned him on way more than he ever thought it could, and realized with sudden clarity that he was one hundred and ten percent a bottom now. _Fuck._

“Where should I come?” Castiel’s voice was ragged, and Dean pondered the question—certainly not in his ass without a condom. Not on his face either, because of the makeup, though that was an enticing thought for _next time._ He had a little thrill at the thought that Castiel wanted to do this again, that this could be something they explored even after today. He pulled the panties from his mouth, discarding them on the floor. 

“My chest?” Dean offered. Castiel grunted, his rhythm stuttering, and then he pulled out. Dean fell to his knees and watched Castiel pump his cock in front of Dean’s face, and the sight was so mouthwatering that Dean rumbled, “Are you clean?”

Castiel’s momentary look of confusion was adorable, and then his gaze turned heated again. “I am. But you just met me, you don’t have to—”

Whatever reasonable argument Castiel had gathered was stopped in its tracks, as Dean swallowed down the man’s cock in one fluid motion. Castiel’s eyelids fluttered closed for a moment before looking back down at Dean, who was staring up at him beneath his lashes. He tongue swirled, tasting precome, before gulping Cas’ dick down again and sucking. Hands tightened in his hair, Cas moaned his name, and then he was coming down Dean’s throat—salty and warm and forceful. Dean moaned around the cock and swallowed, come slipping out of the corners of his mouth. 

He was hauled to his feet and then Castiel was kissing him again, filthy and eager and sloppy, Cas’ come pooling between their open mouths. It was the dirtiest moments of his life, though Dean knew the whole goddamn day would be spank bank material for years to come. 

As they continued to make out, there was a knock on the door that made them both freeze. 

“Dean?” Charlie’s voice was on the other side of the door. Shit, Dean had almost forgotten that his agent-slash-friend was even here. “They said you’re good to go, so stop fucking around with Krushnic and go buy him a beer already. Also, if you leave without getting his number, I’ll kick your ass.”

Dean and Castiel exchanged a sheepish look, but Dean was relieved they were done for the day. They both looked so sweaty and well-fucked, there would’ve been no way to hide this from the photographer or Balthazar. 

When he was sure Charlie’s footsteps were diminished and gone, and they were finally alone again, he gave Castiel one last kiss. Then he said, “So, Mister best-sex-of-my-life-in-a-dressing-room-while-on-the-job… What _is_ your number, anyways?”

Castiel grinned. “I believe the deal was, you’d buy me a beer first.”

“Huh,” Dean said, offering him a coy smile now, “guess you better get dressed then. That means a real shirt and some pants, unless you wanna give the whole bar a show.”

“Oh, Dean…” Castiel pushed him against the wall again, staring at his parted lips. “Please don’t tempt me.”

**Author's Note:**

>  _Malish_ = Baby
> 
> \--
> 
> That's it, loves. If you enjoyed this crazy filth, haha, let me know in the comments!


End file.
